


Chosen ones

by Aaymeirah



Series: Tales from the Collegium [1]
Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Choosings, Companions saving the day, Deus ex Companion, Developing Friendships, Family Drama, Gen, Gifts, Grief/Mourning, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Tales from the Collegium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaymeirah/pseuds/Aaymeirah
Summary: Four choosing stories, each featuring my OCs introduced in 'to be a Heraldic Trainee'.  Valdemar belongs to ML.1-Meryl is afraid of horses. But what's this? A Companion?2-Alyn is in disgrace and banished from Haven. While snowed into a inn, a Bard with no instrument, horse or pack comes stumbling in.3-May your life be interesting, curse the Shin'a'in, Richenda certainly got that when a brawl started.4-Mac, and orphan lives at the Monastery of Juros the Helping Hand. A dead Herald and severely injured Companion are found by a dangerous stream. Why is the Companion still alive, what does he want with Mac?Enjoy!





	1. Meryl's choosing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anniversary of her brother's death doesn't make for a nice backdrop for a choosing. The fact that she;s afriad of horses really doesn't help Meryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Violent death. Abusive family members. Trauma.

Meryl sat quietly amid the cornstalks on her family’s farm. She was hiding, and she despised herself for that. However, it was the anniversary of Jaclyn’s death and she had to escape the aura of sadness that lingered in the air of her family’s cottage. A crisp autumn breeze blew, whipping her wild red hair across the creamy, suntanned expanse of her freckled face. Meryl did not care. She closed her eyes and remembered the start of that fateful day...

Jaclyn had taken Becky and Rebecca to the market, he had lost a wager against the twins and now he had to buy them new hair ribbons with the money he had earned helping out Aunt Amy and Uncle Olaf at their tavern, The Jumping Frog. Meryl had of course tagged along, she knew she was Jaclyn’s favourite sister and maybe he would buy her a hair ribbon too. It was uncommon for her large family to leave the farm during harvest time, but when the mage storms came, Ma and Pa decided to move to Haven and stay with Ma’s sister and her husband. Pa was anxious and he had yelled at the twins just before they left that they should stop spending all their time mooning over Uncle Olaf’s assistant, Mitch who would one day take over the tavern for them, and he told them to do something productive with their lives. Meryl did not really like Mitch, so she accredited the foreboding feeling that something bad was going to happen to Mitch. Despite the worry, that was a dark pit in her gut, Meryl looked around avidly at all the wonderful things to see. This was a rather nice neighbourhood. The people who lived here were not poor, but they were not rich either. You just did not go out at night alone. The jumping Frog Tavern and the rather large inn attached to it catered to the people who came to shop at the open-air stalls that lined the road. The artisans who lived on the upper levels of the houses and had shops on the ground level called out their wares. The Mage Storms had everyone worried; they hurried about their business, talking in tight clusters of people glancing quickly at their surroundings. Meryl was not worried. Her cousin Rob was an unaffiliated student at the Collegiums. He had visited, and he talked about how the artificers were almost done predicting where the Change Circles would come and the effects of the upcoming Mage Storm, which, he had said in hushed tones that it would be the worst one yet. Meryl had listened through the crack in the door. Now she knew from their conversation, that no Change Circles were likely to come in this area.

Jaclyn bought Bec a blue ribbon and Beck a green ribbon. They were so pretty, Meryl sighed then her face lit up when Jaclyn had presented her with a gray ribbon.

“To match your eyes Merry.” He had said. Using his pet name for her that no one else except Ma and Pa used. Meryl thanked him profusely and the group continued down the road, Meryl’s ten-year-old hand tightly holding Jaclyn’s rough calloused one. After a while, Jaclyn had stopped and bought something else.

“What did you buy Jaclyn?”

“A present for my favourite sister.” Jaclyn held triumphantly out a perfect figurine of a Companion, those amazing horses the half-Legendary Heralds rode.

“Thank you so much Jaclyn. Thank you Thank you Thank you...”

“All right little sister.” He laughed, “You can stop thanking me now. I know I’m appreciated.” 

Meryl beamed and clutched her Companion toy tightly. The foursome started out once more, it was time to head back to the inn. Then disaster struck, an out of control horse came careening down the road, pulling a flaming cart behind it. People rushed to the relative safety of the shops, but not the air-headed twins, who stood petrified, hugging each other and screaming. Right in the middle of the horse’s path...

The twins were screaming, screaming. Meryl looked on in horror as Jaclyn snarled,

“Dammit, the little idiots.” He ran into the road and shoved the twins to the side of the road, out of harms’ way. However, Jaclyn was not so lucky. The horse’s back hoof clipped him in the ribs. With a cry, Jaclyn crumpled to the ground. Others had restrained the horse; a bucket chain had started, trying to extinguish the fire. It blessedly started to rain. Meryl did not care. She dashed over to cradle Jaclyn’s body. He was panting, gripping Meryl’s wrist in an iron group.

“Are you okay Jaclyn? C’mon, tell me you are going to be all right. Jaclyn? Jaclyn!” Jaclyn had gone limp. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered. Becky and Rebecca had joined the shocked Meryl. A gap opened in the crowd as a tall but plump woman in soggy Healer green came pushing through the crowd, trailed by a miserable looking man, presumably a Bard by his Scarlet clothing that you could just make out under the mud.

“I’m Healer Karenna and this is Bard Kale. We saw the horse and the fire and decided to follow it; surely, someone would have been hurt. Kale here tagged along for the story. What happened?” Demanded the Healer. It was Rebecca, who answered,

“An out of control horse with a flaming cart behind it came charging through, Bec and I, we were so scared, and we were frozen in terror! Then our brave brother came running through and pushed us out of the way, but then the horse hit him in the chest. And now look- He’s all unconscious and clingy!” Rebecca was nearing hysteria and Becky gave her a hug.

“Well let me have a look, move aside girl.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Said Meryl firmly. The Healer muttered something under her breath about stubborn kids.

“Very well. I’m going to go into a healing trance to find out what is wrong.” Meryl simply nodded, bewildered by the afternoon’s events. A few moments later Healer Karenna came out of her trance.

“It’s not good. Your brother here has a broken rib. Normally, I could fix it easily, but the rib is twisted out of position and it is millimetres away from piercing his heart. If it were not for this dammed Mage storm- but even in the best of conditions, I would not dare move the rib for fear of hitting something vital. I am sorry children, but the best I can do is blocking the pain. The rib did pierce his lung and he is slowly suffocating in his own blood. Your brother has only a few more minutes left.” Meryl sat in bewildered silence; the deluge of information overwhelmed her. Meryl seized on one clear thought.

“He is- going to die?”

“I’m afraid so lass, if it’s any comfort, I most defiantly will write a song about this. Be sure of that. Think of the possibilities!” Said the Bard.

“Shut up Kale, you aren’t helping.” Said the Healer. Kale stopped talking; even the crowd was silent as Jaclyn opened his eyes, clear of pain.

“L-love you Merry. You to Rebecca and yes even you Becky. Said goodbye to Ma and Pa will you. I wouldn’t want to go without saying goodbye.” Wheezed Jaclyn.

“I will tell our parents that Jaclyn. I promise.”

“Good...” Mumbled Jaclyn. Then, still cradled in her arms, Jaclyn died.

“Meryl! Meryl! Meryl! Toby wants you now. C’mon, where are you hiding? Meryl!” Meryl was torn out of those depressing memories by the high-pitched voice of her ten-year-old brother Matt. Matt had been only seven when Jaclyn died and he hardly remembered their oldest older brother. Therefore, he was in his usual exuberant, excitable self, if a bit subdued by the morose atmosphere created by the older members of her family who still lived on the farm. Raising herself up, she dusted off her breeches. Dresses were so impractical and highly overrated was her opinion, hardly shared by her Ma, but it was not as if she could do anything about it, and Pa was sunk into too much depression to even notice. Auntie Penelope, who took care of Ma with her wasting illness and constantly watched Pa to make sure he didn’t kill himself or anyone else within throwing range of a bottle of beer, had taken over the raising of Meryl and Matt. She did not do a very good job of it but Meryl hardly blamed her. Auntie Penelope had a lot on her plate. Meryl tried to help as much as she could; she had become a highly proficient cook and could clean just about anything, but times like these she just had to have a moment for herself, she was only 13, yet she felt as if it was her job to keep her family together. Just then, Matt came running up to her, panting slightly.

“You’d better come quickly, Toby’s hopping mad. Crows are eating the corn and the workers cannot get it in fast enough! He needs everybody’s help.” Matt shouted, hopping up and down.

“Alright I’m coming Matt, I’m coming.”

“Well come faster, Toby said he’d beat us up if we dilly-dawdled.”

“Fine then... I’ll race you!” Matt smiled when she said this, despite her sadness, Meryl knew she needed to enjoy her life in the present, not dwell in the past. But- Gods it was hard! Especially on days like this.

“You’re on!” Matt took off running.

“Hey, you got a head start, no fair!”

“I’m younger!” he retorted. Meryl shook her head and tore after him, revelling in the feel of the wind on her face, trying to let it blow away the memories.

The siblings reached the main cornfield where Toby and the hired hands were working frantically.

“Grab a basket!” Bellowed Toby from his iron lungs. One year younger than Jaclyn and as mean as he had been kind, it had fallen to Toby to run the farm when Pa gave up. He controlled everyone with threats 

and fists. Meryl did not entirely blame him. How she hated being able to see both sides of a problem! However, Hellfire, it hurt really badly when he was pummelling her into the dirt. Meryl grabbed a woven basket made by her mother. Weaving was the only thing left to their continually weakening mother, soon, said Healer Karenna, she would not be able to do that at all. Meryl quickly started picking the golden yellow corn, peeping out from its green husk. As she picked her mind wandered down the dark pathways of the past.

Meryl remembered sympathetic onlookers who carried her brother’s body to the tavern. She vaguely recalled a funeral. Meryl most defiantly remembered the stench of Jaclyn’s body as it burned on the funeral pyre. She had not stopped wearing the ribbon Jaclyn bought her for a month. With time, the pain dulled and Meryl only wore the ribbon on special days. She was prepared to move on with her life, but the older ones of her family were not. Ma and Pa sent Ava, Jimmy, and Dawn, her three younger siblings to live with Aunt Amy and Uncle Olaf. Within a year, the twins were married, one to a farmer on a neighbouring farm and another to a Blacksmith who lived in Haven. 6 months later, the Bard Kale showed up, he had been travelling out of Haven and saw Meryl. He said he remembered her fiery red hair from that day when Jaclyn died. Bard Kale stayed for lunch and sung the song he had written about Jaclyn. Meryl thought it was a wonderful song. Brae, her older sister by 10 months hesitantly asked if she could play a song for the Bard. Brae wanted to become a Bard, badly. So she was overjoyed when Bard Kale said, she had a very strong Bardic gift. Within a week, Brae had been enrolled in the Bardic Collegium. That left Meryl, Matt, and Toby as the only remaining kids on the farm. Pa started drinking and Ma got a wasting illness. That was when Auntie Penelope came, announced she was here to help, and promptly settled herself in as an almost surrogate mother and caretaker. Things started to go downhill from there.

Meryl tried her very best to keep her family together. However, she was only 13 and she was additionally hampered by a phobia of horses she had developed, a few months after Jaclyn’s death. It had gotten so bad that Toby had taken their plow horse and sold it to a passing merchant. With the money from that, Toby planned to but a mule or maybe an ox, but Pa took the money and used it to buy himself more drink. When Pa wanted something, you gave it to him, or suffered the consequences. Toby blamed her for that incident. She blamed herself as well.

It was late when all the corn had been harvested, the family, what remained of it, settled at trestle tables set in the open air to eat dinner, cooked by Auntie Penelope. Meryl quickly shovelled her bread into her mouth, dripping with soup so she could eat one of Auntie Penelope’s delicious pocket pies. There was tension in the air and everyone seemed affected. Except for Matt who chattered on unceasingly in his cheerful way. Suddenly, Meryl felt that familiar foreboding in her gut. It was not unpleasant. It spoke of big changes coming. Moreover, potential violence was a very real possibility. Meryl chalked this one up to her worry about Pa going into a rage, but Meryl still felt sick.

“Excuse me.” Said Meryl. Everyone stared at her. “I’m not feeling too well. I think I need to lie down.”

“Are you sick honey?” Demanded Auntie Penelope.

“No- just tired, this day especially is taxing me. I think I need to go lie down. All right Pa?” Pa grunted. Meryl took that as an affirmative and headed in the direction of the cottage. However, as soon as she 

was out of sight, Meryl turned towards the willow tree that grew on the edge of their property. A perfect climbing tree and her secret refuge. Meryl needed some time to clear her head. She parked herself in a wide branch that split halfway through, leaving a perfect seat. She closed her eyes. Almost against her will, she started to fall asleep...

When Meryl opened her eyes, it seemed as if she had been asleep for hours, but really, it had only been about half a candlemark. She heard an odd chiming sound. Like bells or...hooves. Looking at the road, she saw a white horse trotting briskly. No rider, but all decked out in barding and bells. Meryl knew this to be a Companion on search. They passed by this road all the time. Meryl quickly scrambled farther into the tree so the Companion would not see her. Everyone said that the Herald's Companions were not horses, that they had the same intelligence as humans. Nevertheless, Meryl did not buy it. They were still horses and horses were not to be trusted. To her horror, the Companion stopped right in front of her tree. Surely, the crazy horse would not choose her, but the Companion came up to the tree and stuck its head through the lower branches. Meryl found herself looking down into a pair of bluest blue eyes. In her head, she heard a strange voice.

: I choose you Meryl Sarlinn. My name is Kylira. Inside of her, Meryl felt a sense of completion, as if she had found the other half of herself, only she had not known she was missing it. This was a good thing. She would become a Herald. Right? However, she could not ignore that this was a horse. Moreover, a horse killed her beloved brother. Meryl did not want this.

: No, choose someone else Kylira. Meryl said in that strange mind voice. Meryl sensed confusion and bewilderment from Kylira. However, Meryl did not dwell on it as she hopped down from the tree and started running towards her family. Behind her, she knew that Kylira was chasing her. But Meryl didn’t care. She was a very fast runner, but Kylira was faster. Meryl knew she was deliberately lagging, to see where she went. Soon the tables came into sight. Confused, her family all looked at her as she came running into their line of sight with a Companion hot on her heels.

“She- she chose me! And I don't want to be chosen by a horse!' Cried Meryl. She stopped, hands on her knees, panting. Behind her, Kylira pawed the ground anxiously. Toby, the only one thinking clearly it seemed, took a swig from the ever-present flask of ale stolen from Pa and stood up.

“This dumb beast botherin' you Meryl?” Slurred the inebriated Toby.

“I can fix that for you.” Toby reached for his belt knife and unsheathed it. Meryl seemed to be in a daze, was this really happening? Toby attacking a Companion? Meryl glanced at those gleaming silvery hooves. Toby did not stand a chance. Even a sober Toby did not stand a chance. Meryl took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do despite her fear.

“Toby- stop!” Meryl had started to explain the situation when he lunged at Kylira. Without thinking, Meryl launched herself between Toby and the rearing Kylira. Just as she had stopped, the two had stopped, neither wanting to hurt her. Toby backed off, murder in his eyes. Meryl raked Toby and the rest of her family with a furious gaze.

“Kylira is my Companion and no one hurts her!” Proclaimed Meryl. Matt, who had been watching the proceedings in enraptured silence, spoke.

“But Meryl. You're afraid of horses.” Meryl closed her eyes.

“I’m making an exception. For Toby’s sake.” 

“Besides,” grinned Meryl weakly “she's not really a horse.” I hope. She added inside her head. 

: I heard that. 

Her family and the helpers from neighbouring farms starred at her in various stages of incredulity.

“So, I suppose that means you will be going to the Herald’s Collegium?” Demanded Auntie Penelope.

: Of course. Said Kylira.

“Kylira says that of course I’ll be going.” Meryl repeated automatically. Unsure of the quick pace of events and not wanting to do anything to anger Kylira. 

Toby was still standing, although he had sheathed his knife. He marched right up to Kylira, as if he had not just threatened to harm her.

“Now look here horse lady. You can't go taking Meryl, we need her help on the farm” He growled.

: Chosen, tell the angry man that every trainee's family gets money from Haven in compensation for the help their family is deprived of.

“Toby. Kylira says that our family gets paid in compensation for the loss of my help.” Toby seemed mollified.

“Well, have a nice life then, bye.” Mumbled Toby as he sat back down. Meryl smirked. She was anxious to get on the road, a surprise considering her renitence to go with Kylira a short while ago. But the goodbyes from her family took a quarter candlemark at the least. Even Pa gave her a stiff hug.

“You'll still visit. Right big sister?” Demanded Matt.

“Of course Matt, I’ll visit as often as I’m able to.”

“Okay. I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too Matt.” Leaning closer to whisper so only Matt could hear Meryl said

“You're my favourite brother.” The two siblings shared a smile.

Ma then spoke, “Jaclyn would have been so proud of you Meryl. Good luck.”

Meryl smiled. “Thanks Ma.”

Then Meryl, Valdemar's newest Herald-Trainee mounted Kylira. The two headed off into the setting sun, on the road to Haven, then the Collegium and Meryl's new life training to be a Herald.

It was the happiest and the saddest day of her life.


	2. Boredom, Pranks and a stolen Lute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyn finally got caught during one of his pranks. Forced to go along with his brother's lies, Alyn is sent home from Haven in disgrace. But the arrival of a Bard with no instrument and the news of a group of desperate bandits during a snowstorm gives him an idea. After all, who cares if it might get him killed when there's the potential for serious mischief making?

It was Levi’s fault he was being sent away. But no one would believe him! The one time he was actually telling the truth, and no one believed he wasn’t lying! One part of him supposed that it made sense, to all outward appearances, Levi was the perfect child. Obedient, handsome and well suited to a life at court. Only Alyn really knew just what a devil he was in private. He pitied whichever girl would one day end up marrying him. And now, he was being blamed for something he didn’t even do, and being sent to his family’s country home in disgrace! He’d be lucky if he ever got to enter Haven again.

Physically, Levi looked just like him, albeit a year or two older. But his brother was not like him in temperament at all. He had a vicious streak, and no ethics whatsoever, he was fifteen and determined to claw his way up to the highest social position he could get his hands on. As for Alyn, well, he couldn’t care less. When he was younger, and not so smart, he worshiped his older brother. He would do whatever his brother told him to do. No matter how dangerous or unwise it seemed. That was his first introduction to mischief making. By seven, Alyn decided he did not like his brother telling him what to do, or anyone for that matter. And he made it his life’s mission to be as unmanageable as possible. That at least got people to pay attention to him, but not the good kind of attention.

“Be more responsible, like your brother.” His mother, Lady Yaris Trilldain would say. “Why can’t you get good marks like Levi?” Said his tutors. “Your brother was a natural with the sword, so I don’t see why you can’t be.” Said their weaponmaster. He hated being compared to his older brother, and instead of spurring him on him to try harder at things he just couldn’t see the point of, that just made him all the more determined to be as unlike his brother as possible. 

Much to his father’s annoyance, and Alyn’s delight, his Lady Mother made him take Alyn along to Haven each year for Midwinter. She had given up hope of making a good match with him, no family wanted to marry their daughter to a good-for-nothing troublemaker, especially when he wasn’t even heir to his family’s rich holdings. And she swore she deserved some time where she didn’t have to be plagued by his exploits. Alyn quickly grew to hate the court, with their formal dinners, and all those people with their fake smiles. Then his cousin Koln introduced him to a most pleasing pastime. Pranking. Between the two of them. They would pick the most annoying Lords and Ladies they could find, and target them with harmless pranks. It was very satisfying, and they hardly ever got caught.

But this midwinter was different, at fourteen, they had decided that they were proficient enough. They were going to take on the most difficult target of all. His brother, ever so perfect Levi. He had made life hell for them, but they were finally going to give him his comeuppance. They were going to expose him for the sadistic sociopath he was. 

The two started off small, weakening seams on his clothing so they split in some embarrassing places, pouring days-old piss into his leather shoes and letting it dry. Hiding some of the ridiculous jewelry he wore, and Alyn’s favorite, dying his perfectly coiffed brown hair a rather hideous gray. Of course Levi knew it was them, but they were careful, and they weren’t caught. The night before Sovann, was their planned night for Alyn’s greatest ever prank. They were going to convince Levi’s friends that Levi was crazy. The plan was perfect, a true work of genius, everything was ready, but Levi turned the tables on him. It really didn’t help that he was dressed in his oldest, darkest clothes with soot all over his face, halfway out his second-story window when his father entered his room. 

“So it’s true!” He roared, in a right rage. Alyn’s eyes went wide and he frantically tried to get out of the window and onto the ledge. But he was stuck. There was only one way out of this, he had to talk his way out. Very hard when you’re dressed like you’re going to go sneaking around causing trouble and you don’t even know what your father is mad at you for. First try, innocence. 

“What’s true Lord Trilldain?” He said, hoping that his father didn’t recognize him, maybe think he was a thief and it would put him off his guard that a thief knew who he was.

“Don’t act all innocent with me Alyn! I know what you’ve been up to. And to think a son of mine could…” 

“Could what?” Alyn tried to get out of the window and succeeded in toppling in a heap into his room, getting soot from his fireplace all over the rug, which at that moment he was becoming intimately acquainted with. Levi entered the door way, he smirked at Alyn then arranged his face in a mask of horror.

“He’s dallying with Lord Ren’s daughter Elizabeth. I saw Alyn kiss her!” Alyn’s jaw dropped. The bastard was pinning something he did on Alyn! It was Alyn who saw Levi and Elizabeth snogging in an alcove in the garden of her parent’s manor. How dare he!

“I’m doing no such thing.” He said.

“Then why are you dressed like you are? All prepared to go sneaking? To meet with Lady Elizabeth?” Levi pressed. His father’s face got redder and redder. Not a good thing, when Lord Father was in a rage, he didn’t think clearly. But Alyn had to try.

“There’s no way I’d do that! She hates me! Besides, she’s like, four years older than me and has no sense of humor whatsoever. If I was really going to a clandestine meeting, why would I go all scuffed up like this? And I don’t even want to kiss any of the air-heads here at court!”

“So then what are you going dressed like that?” Levi said thoughtfully. Alyn had no answer there. If he didn’t want to tell what he was really doing, and he couldn’t, because that would be betraying Koln, and he would never tell on a prank-mate, he was going to have to go with Levi’s fabrication to save his own skin.

“Fine, I was going to meet her.” Alyn mumbled. His father roared, yes roared, and picked Alyn up from the floor by the front of his shirt. He shook Alyn, hard enough to make his jaw hurt and slapped Alyn across the face. Alyn saw spots. He would have done more to protect himself, but Alyn couldn’t see the point. When his father got this mad, there was no stopping him. 

“I thought I raised you better than that. And so young too! You’ve no business becoming involved in things like this.” He growled. Levi slinked out of the room, Alyn was so busy glaring at his older brother, that he didn’t notice the next slap coming. He lost consciousness.

And that was how his life went to hell. In the morning he was calmly informed by Levi, who sat at the foot of his bed, smiling delightedly, that his father was sending him back to their country estate indefinitely accompanied by four guardsmen. He should have anticipated it. But it still came like a punch to the gut, a sensation he was pretty sure he’d been introduced to last night if the mottled bruises on his abdomen were any way to go by. His head was pounding, he was emotionally drained and all he wanted was to go back to sleep.

“Why, of all the possible things did you have to make up me having a love affair? I mean come on, seriously, couldn’t you have picked something interesting? And believable. I thought you had more imagination than a boring old affair.” Alyn tried casual flippancy and it seemed to him that it went off pretty good, but Levi wasn’t buying it. He knew just how much Alyn did not want to go back home.

“It fit my plans.” Levi shrugged. “And don’t even think of revenge. By now the rumor of your ‘affair’ will be all over the court. No matter the improbability, people love a juicy scandal. And Father will kindly put in a proposition for my betrothal to Elizabeth. No one else would have her now, I’ve eliminated all her other suitors, I get the girl of my- dreams. And her money, and you my dearest brother are in disgrace and will be sent home with a wonderful future ahead of you. How does joining the guard sound? Or maybe the priesthood, you’re unnecessary. Nobody really. A second-born son with no inheritance. And if my plan continues, Mother and Father will soon be eager to have you gone. So how will you ever get back at me? Think on it, okay?” Levi stood up and patted his shoulder, to all appearances being a nice older brother. He then made a graceful, mocking bow and left the room. 

Leaving Alyn to wallow in anger and resentment. 

But it would be a while before Levi came back to the family holdings, and Alyn’s normal mischievousness overpowered his anger. 

And his mind come up with a few very interesting possibilities to liven up their meeting the next time he saw him.

So here he was, it was winter, he was cold and in disgrace with the accompaniment of four dour veterans with no sense of humor whatsoever, and a boring remainder of the winter ahead of him! Not for the first time, Alyn wished his father could be less conscientious. Three generations ago they were merchants, his family had made strategic marriages and now here they were. Minor nobility, his father was always nervous about his standing in court. But what could you do?

They were two days away from his family’s holdings near the Valdemar-Karse border, Understone manor was not palatial, like some of the grand houses he’d seen in Haven, but it was comfortable. Though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the people who lived there. All right, a lot spoiled, you couldn’t really blame him for trying to lighten things up. Well, maybe you could, but to his thinking, Alyn’s practical jokes and antics were necessary, not to mention extremely entertaining, even if the punishment that came afterwards was awful. 

The inn they had taken rooms in was modest, he had his own room just off a larger one where his guards slept, so there was no way he could leave without someone waking up. What did they think he would do? Try to run away? The thought had crossed his mind, but he quickly discarded it, there was no place to go. He smiled bitterly as he got ready for bed, one of his private rules was that if he was going to fail, he’d do it spectacularly. He’d certainly not broken it these past days. 

………………..

In the morning he ate his pocket pie cheerily. The idea had come to him just before he drifted off to sleep, there truly was no way he could get back at Levi until he returned to Understone, and anger was terribly draining. So he decided to act as if nothing was wrong, after all, he knew he there was a chance of getting caught in all of his- endeavors, and he had to accept the consequences. On the plus side of this, his new attitude had totally thrown off-balance the guards. They were expecting to deal with a sullen and recalcitrant spoiled brat, and they had obviously drowned their distaste for the task in ale last evening, if their hangdog expressions were anything to go by. But here he was, acting near as perfect as Levi when he wanted something. 

The innkeeper, a portly middle aged man approached their table looking worried. 

“Milord, I don’t mean to presume but…” Alyn assumed an inviting expression.

“Tell us what you have to say.” He said with his mouth full. Oops, manners weren’t his strong suit. 

“My wife’s a weather witch, she can tell what the day will be like, and she tells me that all her senses are a-telling her that the mother of all storms will be rolling in in an hour or so. And since my inn is the only 

inhabited place that’ll offer you shelter for quite a ways, it might be a good idea if you stay here, just till the storm passes.” Alyn considered this, much as the prospect of going home did not appeal to him, it would be even worse to be trapped here for the foreseeable future. 

“I thank you for the warning, my men and I would be happy to stay here to wait out the storm.” He said at length. The guards looked relieved, but Alyn was merely resigned. Thus started a day of boredom. He was restless, there was only so many times you could play a board game, only so long you could read a book, the guards accepted their confinement with their usual stoic demeanor, Alyn found himself staring out a window at the howling blizzard, dozing off by the fireplace, just after lunch. Through half lidded eyes, he saw a bright red shape flit through his narrow field of vision. He peered closer, and could barely make out a scarlet-clad humanoid form staggering towards the inn. He shrugged off his lethargy and got up, putting shoes on his feet, he left his room to race down to the common room. No one else had noticed that someone was outside, so everyone looked up at once as a blast of cold air swirled into the common room, accompanied by fast blowing snow and a snow-drenched figure in scarlet.

“Shut the damn door.” Grumbled the innkeeper, as he came out from behind the bar he had been methodically wiping down. The Bard looked up balefully at him and stamped snow off of his boots. With the door shut, everyone relaxed, though all eyes remained curiously on the newcomer. 

“Well, come by the fire, hurry up, my wife will kill me if I let a guest freeze to death.” Continued the innkeeper gesturing to a table by the fireplace.

“Thank you sir.” Replied the Bard. He removed his hood and sat down gratefully. Soon, the excitement was over and everyone returned to their busy-work, although Alyn looked furtively in the Bard’s direction, curious. When it appeared as if the Bard wouldn’t perform, most everyone had lost interest in him as he stared moodily into a mug of hot apple sider. Not Alyn. He had questions.

Why was the Bard here, as the innkeeper said, in the middle of nowhere on foot? During a snowstorm no less! And where was his instrument? Or a travelling pack. Curiosity overcame politeness and Alyn moved to sit across from the Bard.

“My name is Alyn Trilldain.” He introduced himself.

“Bard Thomas.” Said the Bard curtly. He obviously didn’t want to talk. But Alyn did,

“So why’re you here in this out of the way inn, with no pack, no instrument, and no horse?” The Bard smiled ruefully.

“They were stolen by some bandits.”

“Bandits! In winter!”

“Yes, there’s a band of them in this area, new, and the guard hasn’t dealt with ‘em yet. I was distracted and they jumped me. They seemed pretty desperate. So much for Bardic immunity.”

“Do you intend to get your instrument back?”

“Once the storm lets off, I guess I’ll have to go to the nearest guard post and hope it’s recovered once they go after them. It’s only a practice lute, really worth only sentimental value, but not enough to risk my life over.”

“Does it mean a lot to you?” His curiosity was piqued.

“My uncle gave it to me when I first entered the Bardic Collegium, just before he died.”

“Then you have a better quality lute elsewhere?” 

“It’s a real masterpiece, I had to have it repaired and I was on my way to collect it.” 

Alyn thought about what the Bard had just told him. 

“If it’s not taken care of properly, will it be terribly damaged?”

“Of course! I highly doubt those bandits know the first thing about proper lute care!”

“Then you need to recover it and soon. Who knows how long the guards will take.”

“I can’t! Didn’t I just tell you that boy? I love that lute, but not as much as I love my life.” Alyn could see how much it pained the Bard to say such a thing. 

“But I can help you!” Alyn said impulsively.

“You? What’s a young boy like you to do to help me recover my lute?”

“I’ve got horses.” He told Bard Thomas. The Bard snorted.

“Alright, so I borrow a horse, then I go and attack at least ten armed and desperate men?” He said sarcastically.

“No, you don’t need to do anything of the sort! Let the guard do that. We just need to sneak in and steal the lute. No one the wiser.” Alyn smiled as a plan began to unfold. Here was a way he could put his considerable practical-joking skills to good use. The Bard sighed as he stared at Alyn. 

“We?”

“This is the most interesting thing to happen to me in a long time, I’m going to go and steal that lute, with or without you. But it be a lot safer if you came along…”

“You’ve got a plan don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And no matter what I say, you’re determined to interfere in my private business?”

“It’s not like I’m in any hurry to get home.” Alyn grumbled. Once more Bard Thomas sighed. 

“I can’t believe I’m going to even listen to this young noble. Gods, I must be getting senile” He said, addressing it to his cooling mug of cider. Alyn grinned.

“Which is exactly why you need me.”

“What’s your suggestion?” 

Alyn’s grin became wider. 

……………..

And so, for the second time that week, Alyn dressed up in his sneaking outfit, and there was no Father to catch him, or stupid brother to get him in trouble. No, there was only the very real possibility that he could be killed or seriously hurt, if not by these bandits, then by his guards, whom he had, with much effort, wrangled them into helping. But, that was life for you, and he really had no time for second thoughts. 

They had waited till the snowstorm let up, it took a while to gather all the necessary supplies, then Bard Thomas had led them towards where he thought their encampment was, riding double on Alyn’s horse.

His plan was simple really, and he knew it would probably fall apart when it came into play, but still, he was rather proud of it. 

His guards would ‘surround’ the camp, making much noise to make it seem as if it was a full patrol, then they would come into sight, causing panic, and in that panic, Alyn would sneak into the tent where they seemed to keep their meager gains and take the lute. Before that, he and the Bard would be putting the bandits on edge, Alyn would surprise those who went to relieve themselves, in his sneaking outfit, he really looked quite menacing, and the Bard would use his Bardic powers or whatever to put them even more on edge. He wasn’t clear on that part, but the Bard told him to trust him, and so Alyn did. He really couldn’t do anything else. This should be easy. The bandits were miserable and half-frozen, and their camp was mired in fresh snowfall. 

It was a young man he was sneaking up on, the shadow of a beard only made him look younger, only a few years older than Alyn, and Alyn felt a twinge of remorse, but not for long. He waited till the man was done his business, than dropped out of the tree, dangling from his knees which were hooked around a branch and shouting maniacally. But not too loudly. The man looked up in surprise and took a step back from the tree. His hand went to a worn sword that hung awkwardly off his belt, but Alyn had already disappeared. Climbing higher into the tree was not easy considering it was full winter and the branches were icy. The man swallowed and went back to camp, accompanied by Alyn’s best evil laugh.

Truth be told, Alyn was surprised they were scaring so easily. He supposed it was because of the Bard.

He thought of all the things that could go wrong.

How stupid he was being.

And he laughed.

He then heard the shouts of his not-to-eager guards and knew it was time to move. 

Running to the edge of the camp, he was satisfied to see all the bandits gathering on the edge of the camp where his guards were fake charging. The Bard joined him, slipping so silently through the snow that he managed to startle him.

“Ready?” Whispered Bard Thomas. Who was evidently accompanying Alyn. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

The two ran into the camp, pausing between raggedy tents, and they came to the one holding the store. The Bard cut a slit in the back of the tent with a very sharp looking knife. And Alyn was reminded why he didn’t like weapons. Time was running out as the bandits rushed to arm themselves. The tent was cramped and filled with obviously stolen oddments. They sorted through stolen tack, empty bags, some sacs and crates of food. No wonder these bandits were desperate enough to waylay a Bard. Thought Alyn, they had hardly any food! 

“Yes!” Cried Bard Thomas. Alyn looked up to see the bard eagerly opening a battered lute case. He pulled out a much-loved lute and gave it a hug. The Bard tried a chord, and even music-deaf Alyn grimaced, it was horribly out of tune. The Bard looked like he wanted to tune it them and there. AS if an out of tune lute physically pained him. Maybe it did. 

“Hurry! We don’t know when they’ll get back!” Alyn chivvied. The Bard looked up. He nodded, with a wide grin on his face. He put it back in the case and they left through the slit in the back of the tent. But then Alyn got a nasty surprise. A ring of very angry bandits had surrounded them! Alyn looked wildly around. His guards were busy fighting their own battle. And here they were, defenceless. 

“Thought you could steal from us eh?” Said the leader, judging from the fact that he was the best armed of all of them. 

“It’s not stealing it’s reclaiming.” Alyn protested.

“I’m recovering what you stole from me.” Said the Bard angrily, something in his voice caused the bandits to step back. Would the Bard’s Bardic gift be enough to get them out? As if he was reading Alyn’s mind, the Bard looked at him and shook his head. Great, the lute was useless and the Bard didn’t have enough power or something. Alyn believed in taking responsibility for his actions, but not if it got him killed. The bandits seemed to have recovered and once more they advanced on the duo.

“We’re dead meat.” Announced Alyn soberly. Stupid, stupid Alyn. Thinking he was so clever! Thinking he could orchestrate a raid on a bandit encampment instead of leaving it to trained professionals. The Bard drew his knife and looked ready to fight it out, but then something happened. Something entirely unlooked for. Something Alyn would never have imagined would happen to him. 

A big white Companion was making his way towards them. Kicking the bandits who didn’t get out of the way fast enough, who were running in terror from the big, white horse. The Companion approached the ring of bandits and snorted in anger. They broke formation and ran. In the distance, Alyn could see mean and women in guard blue surrounding and herding up the bandits. But Alyn hardly payed attention to these things, he was busy falling into eyes of the purest blue.

: I chose you Alyn. Even though you’re a foolish and impetuous troublemaker. My name is Xac.

: Um, thank you. Alyn answered instinctively. Here was someone who shared his sense of humor.

: Now get on my back you idiot, you have a lot of explaining to do. 

: As always. Alyn responded ruefully.

: And you might want to rub some of that soot off your face before you talk to the Guard captain. It makes you look mighty suspicions. What possessed you to go running off into a bandit’s encampment to recover the lute of a stranger? Continued Xac.

: It seemed like the right thing to do. And I was bored. Alyn added, not wanting to lie to Xac. 

Inside Alyn’s head, Xac started laughing. And he couldn’t help it, Alyn started to laugh as well. Not minding the fact that a ring of people had gathered around him, starting quizzically at the latest addition to the ranks of Valdemar’s Heralds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is curious. If you pour days old pee in someones shoes and let them dry, whenever the feet of the wearer of the shoes get sweaty, or steps in a puddle , or gets their shoes wet, the pee will start to stink. Thus giving your victim a reputation for some very unpleasant- smells. The best part? It's easy to cover up and get away with.
> 
> If you're splitting the seams on someone's clothing, get a stitch ripper, and loosen every few stitches in a seam. The moment any strain is applied, say someone bends over, the seam will start to rip.


	3. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richenda is bored, day in and day out she works at the Clinking Purse Tavern. She wishes for something new to happen, something interesting.
> 
> The Shin'a'in have a saying, frequently used as a curse; "May you life be interesting."  
> Valdemarans have another saying; "Be careful what you wish for."

Richenda woke to sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden wall that was all that stood between her and the city of Haven. The others hadn’t woken yet. That was a good thing. Because this time, just before the sun crested the horizon she never saw, was the only time she could be alone. Sleeping beside her was Janice, her fellow servitor, snoring. The two of them delivered drinks and food of questionable quality to the patrons of The Clinking Purse, avoided the advances of inebriated men, and sometimes women, and cleaned between customer rushes. Despite the fact that they did exactly the same job, got paid exactly the same (Nothing) and were yelled at equally, Janice had never responded to her overtures of friendship. The girl was remarkably closed off, Richenda's Gift of Empathy could barely influence her. Where life had made Richenda stronger (She liked to think so, the alternative was not worth contemplating), Janice just seemed beaten down. The general weal of folk round Exiles’ Gate. 

Will, the pot-boy, was mute and sullen, but he would obey any orders unquestioningly. Cook had her own alcove near the door, separated from her lowly subjects by a tattered curtain. She ruled the Kitchens (Such as they were) with a metal ladle Richenda had quickly learned to fear. Her husband was the Bartender, a bear of a man who looked at everyone with mistrust. And that was the paltry staff of the Clinking Purse. They lived in the small servant’s quarters up in the attic. Richenda supposed she was better off than most. But she still thought there should be something more to life than endless drudgery. The Tavern’s owner, a whipcord thin woman who called herself Ace lived elsewhere. By Exile’s Gate standards, she was one of the better-offs. As far as she knew Ace owned multiple Taverns like this, and there were rumors that she engaged in less law-abiding activities. But, who hadn’t? 

Janice rolled over and her thin arm smacked Richenda on the forehead. “Ow.” She mumbled under her breath, hoping to delay Janice's awakening, but it was no use, Janice sat up and rubbed her eyes blearily. Looked like someone had gotten into the wine cellars. Richenda observed smugly, not envying Janice her headache. She had gotten dunk once, and she hated the out of control feeling she found herself in. You couldn’t survive if you didn’t have all your wits about you. But the smugness soon dissipated. This would put Cook in a bad mood, and Bad-mood days were not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Everyone else was waking. Richenda sighed. Today was going to be a long, long day. Fill the mugs. Deliver the mugs brimming with poor quality ale that people still seemed to want to drink. Collect the money, dodge that man passed out on the rush-covered floor that the bouncer hadn’t thrown out yet. Things became a pattern, with variables that themselves were expected. Richenda was tired, harried, and despite herself, bored. As such, it was a relief when something happened. 

Brawls weren’t unknown, but the Clinking Purse had a reputation for a relatively brawl-free drinking den. And when the occasional brawl did start, it was usually broken up quickly. Not this time. Richenda thought she knew how it started. A group of toughs had been arguing at the table closest to the smoking hearth, and a foreign looking weasel of a man had knocked over one of the toughs’ drinks. She didn’t see the first punch, but she heard it. A jaw-cracking sound of flesh on flesh. The half-hearted chatter of the regulars, come here to drown their sorry lives in drink stopped. “Whad’ya do that for Karsite?” The tough snarled. Richenda positioned herself just behind the bar, the better to see what at would happen, and the better to get out of the way. Valdemar and Karse were supposed to be at peace. Richenda had heard all sorts of wild rumors how the two age-long enemy countries had banded together to stop King Ancar, a decidedly nasty man if even half of the gossip was true. And other news said that the Karsites had helped as well to somehow magically end the mage storms. Could be true, could not be, but Richenda knew that not all was well between the two, especially among the desperate people here in Exile’s gate. “An accident. Sorry.” Mumbled the weasel-man through a jaw swelling at an alarming rate. “Accident? My foot!” The tough snarled. And things descended into chaos from there. 

The bouncer, Richenda had never found out her name (not wanting to approach the scary, hardened ex-mercenary woman who came every night to keep the peace) advanced to break things up. But the tough was having none of that. “Stay away woman.” He said. Somehow the bouncer tripped, and fell onto another man who quickly got up, fists flailing wildly, connecting with his erstwhile drinking partner. It would have been funny if Richenda hadn't beem worried for her safety. The tables were shoved or thrown aside and soon Richenda couldn’t make out where one body started and the next ended. Insults were thrown, curses blistered the already flaking paint, some bright spark decide to use his heavy tankard as a weapon, and the sound of it connecting with someone’s head was rather sickening. 

Richenda watched with at sinking heart. Wasn’t there a Shin’a’in curse ‘May your life be interesting.’? She had wanted something to happen, and something had happened, but not like this. The watch would come soon, she hoped, behind the bar wouldn’t be safe for long. A slight youth, with just the shadow of a beard and a swelling face came flying over the bar and crashed into the rack of questionable brews, they toppled over, crushing him and shattering on the splintery planked floor. Richenda winced as she was drenched in strong spirits, ale and glass she mostly avoided. She had to move. Sparing a glance for the young man, she saw he was still alive. The part of her that wanted to survive told her to get the hell out of the way, for she was no fighter. But the other part, a part long subdued told her if she didn’t so something, and quick, the youth would die. Cursing under her breath, she crawled over to him. The rack had trapped his right leg, he was moaning feebly, trying to get unstuck. Richenda pushed the rack, but it wouldn’t move. A shadow fell over her. 

Looking up she saw Will standing over her. He silently pushed her out of the way, then pushed the rack off the man with ease. He gestured to the man’s feet, and grabbed him under the armpits. Richenda picked up his feet and together they jammed the young men into the alcove that concealed the cellar entrance form casual view. “He’s bleeding.” Richenda said unnecessarily. Will raised an eyebrow. Richenda sighed and cast around for a rag to stop the flow of blood from a nasty looking gash on the man’s forehead. Lacking anything else, she ripped some cloth off of her ruined skirt. Will took it out of her hands and deftly bound it around the youth’s forehead. “How’d you know how to do that?” She asked curiously. Will shrugged. Immediate crisis over, Richenda looked over at the main brawl. 

All the drunks were still going strong, somehow, the door had been busted off of its hinges, and a few sensible people, and one or two insensible stumbled out into the street that was disappointingly empty of passerby. Suddenly, she felt a weight on her shoulder, dragging her down. “What did you-“Richenda hissed angrily at Will, but stopped when a tankard crashed onto the wall, right where her head had been. “Let me go!” A shrill voice cred over the lower rumbles and grunts of the ongoing fight. Despite Will’s hand signals, Richenda risked a peek. Janice was trying to fend off two of the toughs, who had cornered her by the hearth. “We’ve got to help her.” Richenda said. Will sighed and shook his head, his eyes calling her crazy. All the same, before her insane bit of courage left her, Richenda darted out form behind the bar and ran towards them, sticking close to the wall and jumping over the prostrate form of the Bartender. Richenda’s resolve nearly left her when she saw the great brawler knocked out, but all the same, she grabbed a fireplace poker and charged the nearest tough. She didn’t mean to seriously hurt him, just distract him so Janice could run away, but somehow the sharp poker found it’s way into the man’s back, and he fell over with a cry, beefy arms grabbing for the length of rusty metal embedded in his back. “Crap.” Richenda cursed. 

She was still processing what she had done, when the tough’s companion, armed with a painful looking cudgel, raised it with a yell. For the second time that night, someone pushed Richenda over. It was Janice; the club meant for her head hit Janice’s shoulder instead. Richenda could hear the bone shattering, and Janice fell on top her. The tough did not get a chance to finish the job because Will had picked up the poker and hit him on the base of his skull with the wooden handle. Richenda gently pushed Janice off her. For a moment, Will stared at Janice. Then his eyes lost his ever- present sullen look. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder and seemed to lose consciousness. “Will? What are you doing? We have to go before the watch comes!” Richenda hissed. However, Will did not acknowledge her, Janice moaned softly and Richenda looked around wildly. Usually a brawl would be over by now, but infuriated drunkards were still going strong. Moreover, there was a sickening number of people lying unmoving against the walls. This was much too out of control. Then Richenda remembered and cursed herself for a gods-dammed idiot. 

Why are you doing this ‘chenda? Her mind asked her furiously. However, Richenda got up from beside a moaning Janice and a oblivious pot-boy, then, step by step, she made her way to the bar. She climbed on top of the bar and marched to the middle, taking care not to slip on sticky split spirits. Some paid attention to her and some did not. Trusting to who-knows-what Richenda shut her eyes and called upon the power she had always had. She fueled her frustration and anger, fright and desperation into one word that ripped out of her in a throat-rendering scream. 

“STOP!” 

Everyone stopped. Freezing in place, a moment of silence that could have lasted for an eternity ensured. Then, as if waking up from a spell, the fighters slowly separated. Looking around in confusion, tension started to build up. Richenda’s command was broken when four men in Watch-blue entered the bar and looked around in consternation at the wreckage of the taproom. The tallest shrugged and gestured to other guards outside still. “Arrest them all.” His eyes met Richenda’s, standing on top of the bar, shaking with emotion let loose. She smiled weakly and collapsed. What happened next was anyone’s guess. 

Her head hurt. It hurt more than any headache she had ever had in her life. It was like the brawl, only going on inside her head. She tried to open her eyes, but found she was unable to muster the will to open them fully. Besides, the light was so very bright, and it magnified her headache tenfold. She tried to fall back asleep, but now that she was aware of the pain, she could not ignore it. It was all encompassing, debilitating. There was something she should be worried about; this was not her pallet in the attic…but she couldn’t muster the will to remember. Some one was shaking her shoulder gently. Richenda groaned and feebly tried to push them away. “Wake up. Wake up.” Her head still hurt, though to a lesser degree than before, whenever before was. She succeeded in opening her eyes and blinked in confusion at what she saw. She was in a small cell made of stone. More she couldn’t see from the position she was currently in, which seemed to be half sitting, half lying on a narrow bed. “Oh thank goodness you’re awake!” The voice said. Richenda recognized it as belonging to Janice. Janice’s narrow face came into her field of vision, mousy blond hair and tired eyes. 

“Where…” Richenda tried, reaching up to rub her aching head. “We’re in a holding cell in Bowbender streets’ guardhouse. They say we’ll be released soon. You and Will have been out cold for the past day and a half leaving me all alone to deal with those guards!” Janice was working herself into hysterics. “Why, why does my head hurt?” Richenda mumbled. Janice shrugged. “Maybe you took a blow to the head, same as Will.” Or maybe not Richenda thought. Then another incongruity occurred to her. “Why do you look so healthful? You’re shoulder was smashed less than two days ago!” Janice looked uncomfortable. “I think Will healed it. At least a bit, it only feels like I’ve pulled it now. Creepy, right?” “Will has the healing gift?” Richenda was incredulous. “Guess so.” Janice seemed reluctant to talk about it. 

The door to their cell opened and a young man with a wild crop of curly, black to the point of blue hair entered. He wore the Green of the few Healers Richenda had seen in her short life. “I’m Healer Arche; I do the rounds of the guardhouses in this part of the city.” He said curtly. Janice stood up. “Richenda and Will have crazy headaches.” She announced. The Healer gave her a ghost of a smile, “And are you hurt?” “My shoulder was broken, but Will mostly healed it for me.” “What?” The Healer was shocked. Richenda looked at Will, who just stirring. “He’s got the healing gift?” The Healer continued. Janice shrugged. “Guess so.” Looking Janice over with a practiced eye, he told her to sit and that he would examine her shoulder in a moment. Arche walked over to Will and crouched down so they were on eye level. “Will?” The healer said. Richenda looked with envy at Will, who seemed to be suffering from a headache to a much lesser degree than she was. “I’m just going to check to make sure you’re okay.” The healer said, and waited. “He doesn’t speak.” Janice added. The healer frowned, but Will nodded his head ever so slightly. 

Richenda watched with interest as healer Arche entered the same trance like state she had seen Will go into the night of the brawl. He was not in the trance for long, but when the healer stood up, he wobbled slightly. “Young man, you have one of the strongest healing gifts I’ve ever seen. Third year healer trainees could not heal a shattered shoulder so quickly and in one session. Not to mention that you’ve done this with no training.” Will’s eyes widened. “You are suffering from a reaction headache. Comes with using your gift to much. The only thing to cure it is time and a certain tea which will help dull the pain.” Will nodded. Turning from him, the healer walked over to Janice. “May I look at your shoulder?” “Yeah.” Quickly, the healer placed his hands, one on either side of her shoulder, and pulled. “OW!” Cried Janice. “Whad’ya do that for?” “Apologies, but your shoulder was dislocated. It would have hurt a lot more if you had time to work yourself up about me having to pop it back into place.” “You don’t have to do any healing power thing on me do you?” “No, you just need to take it easy, try not to use your shoulder. If you’re to be believed, Will did the necessary work on you already.” Richenda watched with interest as this man put everyone at ease, and Richenda was willing to bet he didn’t have her particular bent for persuasion. 

This time the healer turned to her, and Richenda unconsciously shrank away. One thing to watch him help the others. Nevertheless, her? Richenda didn’t like any man to get too close to her. Even if this one seemed harmless and like he wanted to help, (as much as any person who regularly tended the denizens of Exile’s Gate could.) “I’m not going to hurt you.” He reassured. Richenda wasn’t reassured. “I’m fine except for this blasted headache.” She admitted grudgingly. “Were you hit in the head?” “No.” “The why do you have a headache?” “I think it’s like Will’s.” “You have the healing gift?” “No,” Richenda took a chance. “I can um, control people’s emotions sometimes. And I sorta made everyone stop during the brawl.” “Control emotions?” Janice said. “This is way too freaky.” And just like that, Janice lost her newfound friendliness to Richenda. The healer looked worried, and intrigued. “Have you ever felt anyone’s emotions before?” “I don’t feel people’s emotions, I just, nudge them a little.” For some reason Richenda felt the need to defend herself. The healer rubbed his head. 

“What are the chances? Two gifted individuals in the same place!” He mumbled. “Will Will have to go to the Healer’s Collegium?” Asked Richenda. “Probably, and you too, at least till we decide what to do.” He replied. Richenda tried to wrap her fuddled mind around those words. “But I’m not a healer. Nor do I want to be one.” She said at length. “No, but two gifts like this can’t be allowed to be untrained. I’ll bring you two to someone who actually knows what to do with you.” The healer said. “And Janice?” Richenda said. “I want nothing to do with gifts and healers. As soon as we’re released, I’m outa here.” She said firmly. The tall guard who had commanded the round up at the Clinking Purse strolled by their cell. “Hurry would you Arche? We have holding cells full of angry and battered, hungover men.” He said politely but forcefully, he completely ignored the three children in the cell. “I’m coming Captain, I’m coming.” Arche said distractedly. 

“Well, that was an adventure.” Richenda said, rubbing her aching head as she and Will walked out of the guardhouse. Really, why did the sun have to be so bright? Will said nothing, just walked over to the nearby fountain with a statue of a rather ugly woman and a equally ugly dog in the center. He dunked his head under the water. Richenda decided that was a good idea and joined him. The water certainly helped to wake her up. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Richenda turned around warily, but relaxed when she saw the lanky form of Healer Arche. “Come to take us away then?” Richenda asked. Arche nodded. “Anything you need to take care of here?” Will quickly shook his head and Richenda stopped for a moment to think. 

Anywhere was better than here. She was homeless, jobless and money less, not a good position for a girl like her to be in. She had no family here. The thought of family brought her thoughts perilously close to the brink of remembering Before. Not far enough, because Richenda successfully avoided thinking about her past. this time. What did she have to lose? “No.” Richenda said at length. “Good then, my shift down her is over anyways, lucky I was planning to return to the Collegia soon.” The Healer said. “Come on then.” He turned and walked away, Richenda hurried to follow him with Will in close pursuit. 

“Welcome to the Collegium.” Healer Arche said grandly. “Over there we have Bardic and that tall stone building on the far side of Companion’s Field is the Herald’s Collegium. However, we are not going there. We’re going to the Healer’s Collegium; one of the best places to study medicine in all of Valdemar…” He trailed off as he noticed that none of the two children was paying attention. Instead, they were staring at a Companion decked out on blue barding and tinkling silver bells. “Bet you’ve never seen a Companion before eh?” He said. Will turned to look back at him but Richenda remained, staring at the Companion trotting towards the gate in the wall that led to Haven proper. As if in the same healing trance Healer Arche and Will had entered into, Richenda ignored the Healer and Will, and started walking towards the Companion. “Hey now, where’re you going? There’s plenty of time to see Companions and the like, this one’s on Search, don’t interrupt!” Healer Arche called. 

Richenda kept walking, she didn’t know why but she felt this, this pull towards the gleaming white horse. The Companion stopped suddenly, in confusion. Then turned towards the girl in grubby clothes walking towards it. “What’re you doing?” Demanded Healer Arche. Richenda didn’t answer him, she had eyes only for the horse, getting bigger as it easily ate up the distance separating them. Richenda should have been scared. But she wasn’t, she had gone through too much to be scared of a shining white horse approaching her at a run. It stopped just before it would have run over her. Richenda vaguely knew that Will and the Healer were approaching her, but she only had eyes for the Companion. And in turn, the Companion looked at her with bright, blue eyes. 

: Hi, I choose you. My name is Gjerah. What’s yours? The Companion said brightly. In her mind.


	4. Second chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac is an orphan who lives at the monastery and temple of Juros the Helping Hand. When a dead Herald and a barely alive, gravely injured Companion are found on the bank of an impossible to cross stream, Mac wants to help. Who knew he would help in this way?

“Come on Mac, we’ll be late!” Chivvied his twin sister Caroline.  
“So what if we are?” Mac mumbled sullenly, scratching his neck where the coarse cloth of his shirt chaffed.  
“You’ll get cold porridge.” Caroline pointed out pragmatically. She did have a point there, and Mac increased his pace marginally. The refractory of the temple of Juros the Helper was always crowded. Whether it be with monks, and novices, the poor looking for a meal, the people who lived in Waydring or supplicants come to ask the aid of the charitable brothers of the Helping Hand, it amounted to one large crowd. And Mac hated crowds.  


The temple was easily the largest and best-constructed building in the newly formed village of Waydring. Located almost exactly on the border between Valdemar and Karse, Waydring was officially only three years old, but already its inhabitants had developed a fierce pride for the place.  


It used to be a settlement strictly of Valdemarans, their old village having been destroyed in a flash flood. Then Karsites came, fleeing internal strife, most of them because they would not uphold the strictures of Vkandis. There was enmity at first, but from what Mac had heard, instead of fracturing, the little community had only gotten closer during one of the longest and coldest winters anyone could remember. This tenuous balance was upset when Haradorn farmers, themselves fleeing the ongoing war with King Ancar came. Through some miracle, the village was untouched by pillagers and bandits. That was all the time that the cult of Juros the Helping Hand needed to firmly entrench itself into the life of this community.  


Opinion differed over which people had brought Juros to Waydring, Mac personally believed that some do-gooder Valdemaran had come up with it as an excuse to start a monastery to promote goodwill between the diverse people. Havens forbid if Mac ever voiced that theory. That was his problem, he thought things through, sometimes too much, and as a result, some people thought him slow in the head. Even Caroline.  
“Mac. I will go without you. Snap out of it!” She exclaimed and with a start, Mac realized he had been standing in the middle of the hallway, staring into nothing.  
“Right, sorry sister, let’s go get breakfast.” He said guiltily. Mostly because he didn’t want to go into the crowd alone.  


They passed through the arched doors and into the large refractory, where the Hands of Juros served a free breakfast to the community. All the people of Waydring worked to support the temple and attached monastery, they contributed to the communal breakfast with whatever food they could. As a result, The Hands were never lacking in food or fellowship.  


Mac lined up behind Caroline at the table laden with the daily offerings of his fellow villagers. He was not hungry, but he took an apple and some porridge, which was typical breakfast food in these parts. Caroline, on the other hand loaded her trencher so much so, that he would have thought all the food would fall off is she didn’t do the same thing every morning.  


They squeezed between Mistress Hathly, who was holding court, recounting some amusing anecdote about chicken and children, and Mistress Olna, a dour stick of a woman who baked good pumpkin pies. Caroline, being her perky self, engaged Mistress Olna in a conversation about the weather. The weather! What a ridiculous thing to talk about. Mac stared moodily at his un-bitten apple and thought about his life.  


His parents had been Hands themselves. When the fever took them, the fully initiated Hands took the orphaned twins under their wings; it was, after all, the helping thing to do. And so they had lived all their lives at the Temple of Juros, not old enough to be full novices, but already they knew more about the workings of this temple than most first year Hands.  


Chores would be the first order of the day, then a worship service where the Keeper of the Book of Aid would read and expound upon some relevant passage and the Keeper of Song would conduct the choir. Mac had never felt the fever to serve Juros that the others seemed to feel, even the Karasites had more faith than he did, and they were largely indifferent due to their forsewerance of religion where the priests might oppress the people. The cult of Juros was more a way of life, the community revolved around the temple and monastery. Mac supposed that that was to make people feel safe and welcome, but he just felt stifled.  


After Service, there would be classes. And wasn’t he just the star pupil. Before he could start brooding about how horrible school was going to be, the gong rang, signaling an end to breakfast. The noise level increased as every got up with a scuffing of skirts and shoes and goodbyes. For the day was started, and there was work to be done.  
“Bye brother.” Caroline said cheerily as she scuttled off to mend socks and gossip or something. It was Mac’s turn to help split firewood. All the young men were supposed to take turns keeping the massive woodpile stocked, somehow, Mac ended up doing all the work for the boys in his age group. He didn’t mind. Not much at least. It gave him a focus for his thoughts. And so, the hint of a smile on his face, he left through a side door and took up a leisurely stroll through the courtyard towards the large lean-to where the firewood was stacked. There would be hatchets there, sharp and oiled, ready to split logs.  


A novice Hand was standing in the lean-to counting stacks of firewood and making marks on a clipboard. His name was Paul, and Mac didn’t mind him. He was very smart, and sometime he would do Mac’s homework for him if Mac did some of his chores. Paul was his age, but he was allowed to become a novice Hand a full year early due to his maturity or something.  
“Morning Mac.” He said amiably.  
“Morning Paul.” He replied in turn.  
“Jerry and Kyle are on this rotation. But I don’t think they’ll come. You really have to stop doing their work for them.”  
“I don’t mind. I enjoy splitting logs.”  
“At any rate, I’ll make sure they know you’re covering for them. It’s always good to have favors in stock, yeah?”  
“I suppose.” Mac never did get Paul’s obsession with gathering information and knowing what everyone was doing. Much the same as Paul did not understand that he preferred to do something productive, rather than sit around collecting secrets. Give him a tangible problem any day. He picked up a hatchet and left to take out his frustration from words unsaid on the logs. 

Half an hour in he had completed his portion and was getting started on Jerry and Kyle’s when the aforementioned slackers came running up to him.  
“Mac! Mac! You have to see this!” Cried Jerry.  
“Me doing your work for you?” Mac yelled back, but without rancor. The two boys slowed down and stood panting in front of him.  
“In the woods, you’ll never believe what we saw!”  
“Yeah, we just stumbled across them, I swear!”  
“And there was no one around so we-“  
“Kyle wanted to see if we could help it but I said that we needed to tell someone.” Mac’s head ached trying to keep up with them as he planted the head of the axe in a stump.  
“Calm down and tell me, what did you find?”  
“A Companion!” Said Jerry.  
“A Companion, really,” He drawled. “And where was it’s Herald?”  
“She was lying all cold-like on the edge of the gorge. An’ the Companion was lying just a little farther away bleeding something fierce.” Kyle continued. Mac didn’t want to believe him, but Kyle was fidgeting, he was only truly still when he was attempting to lie.  
“Oh?”  
“Swear it’s true. We’ll show you.” Kyle insisted.  
“No you won’t, Kyle run ahead and tell the Healing Hand this; he’ll know what to do. And Jerry, come, show me where you found them.”  
“Alright Mac.” 

The two of them seemed content to let him take charge for now. The wood could wait, Mac decided. This was much more important. And if they were playing some joke on him- let the Hands deal with it. Jerry and Kyle sprinted off in different directions and Mac jogged at a steadier pace behind Jerry. Waydring bordered a small forest with a large ditch in the middle where water trickled through. When it rained, the water level rose, making crossing the gorge extremely dangerous. With a sinking heart, Mac recalled that it had rained yesterday.  
Soon the two boys were in the forest, running easily through the well-trodden paths they both knew by heart. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the scene for himself.  


There was a woman in Whites, half in half out of the receding water in the gorge, face a nasty shade of blue and head twisted at an unnatural angle. But what truly dominated the scene was a Companion, lying on it’s side, right foreleg bleeding sluggishly, but thickly and at least two legs broken, twisted at equally unnatural angles.  
“Oh my good Gods.” Breathed Mac. He was certainly no healer, but it looked to him that it was a miracle that the Companion was even alive. He had heard that Heralds and Companions rarely outlived each other. Despite this, he knew some basic wound care, and if this Companion was even going to have the slightest chance at living, they would have to stop the bleeding.  
“Give me your scarf Jerry.” Without a word, the worried looking boy handed it to him. Mac approached hesitantly, but the Companion made no sign that it registered his presence. So he carefully pressed the scarf to the gash, dismayed at how quickly the scarf became saturated with blood.  
All he could do was wait.  


Perhaps five minutes later there was a commotion at the edge of the path. The Healing Hand, a balding, middle-aged man in charge of the health of Waydring hurried towards the Companion, shooing Mac out of the way. Other Hands followed, some gathered around The Healing Hand, others went to look at the body of the Herald. Mac stood beside Jerry on the sidelines and watched as the Healing Hand and the other Healers debated how to move the Companion so they could set its legs. One was suggesting a complicated sling system, another saying it was no use, the Companion would be dead soon, or have you forgotten it’s dead Herald? The youngest of the healers, a 19-year old called Mary who was Mac’s favorite of all the Healers suggested rigging up a pulley system and treating it here. They all agreed that was the best course of action.  


Elsewhere, Hands were arranging the Herald’s body solemnly on a stretcher. Mac knew that if someone didn’t come to claim the body within the next three days, they would bury it and give the Herald a funeral according to the Rites of Juros. Everything was taken care of. Efficiently. Mac would give the Hands this much, they could get a job done, even a strange case like this.  
Mary approached them. “Are you two okay?”  
“Yeah.” Shrugged Jerry, Mac smiled thinly. They had seen plenty of bodies, death wasn’t a stranger in Waydring, this year alone two had died, claimed by the gorge. But the sight of a broken Companion was much more disturbing than a dead body. Even if it belonged to a Herald.  
“I will be.” And Mac meant it. He knew the Companion was in good Hands. And while it might give up on the business of living, which Mac could barely fathom, the Hands would do all they could to save it’s life. Still, he felt extremely worried, yet was more intrigued by the situation than anything in a long time.  


Even if there was a dead Herald and a nearly-dead Companion to deal with, life went on. And while there might be less people there, Service still continued. Mac paid even less attention than he usually did, he was too busy thinking about the Companion. Why wasn’t it dead? Mac had heard about the bond that Herald and Companion shared, living on would be like living without half of yourself. Of course, he wouldn’t know what that felt like, but he could imagine. He wouldn’t be able to get away till after dinner, but he resolved to go take a peek at the Companion the Healing Hands were still tending in the clearing.  


The nine other kids his age paid just as much attention to their lesson on dividing fractions as he was, mainly, none. Everyone wanted to talk about the Companion and the Herald. Hand Harrold, who lived for numbers and calculations mostly ignored them and continued droning on. He was happy as long as he could hear himself.  
“Mac, so you saw the Herald, yeah? Was she all bloody?” Jennifer wanted to know, fascinated to a disturbing extent with blood and gore. Somehow, it felt wrong to talk so glibly about the Herald whose name they didn’t even know, lying dead on a slab in the funeral house. As he was hesitating, Kyle butted in.  
“I saw her, she was obviously drowned, but crawled onto the bank and broke her neck.”  
“Don’t be stupid Kyle, how could she just randomly brake her neck on the bank? If she had fallen sure, but she was half on the flat ground and half on the incline.” Paul said scornfully.  
“Then how did she die?”  
“I bet the Companion tried to jump the gorge and slipped and they fell into the gorge. Even the best horse rider couldn’t safely jump it. That’s how she broke her neck.” Jennifer said.  
“Then how was the Companion lying clean on the flat ground and the Herald on the bank?” Paul said, ever the skeptic.  
“They must have been in the water, the Companion dragged her out but she broke her neck and as the Companion pulled her out, then the Companion tripped in the mud and pitched forward onto the flat ground, breaking it’s forelegs.” Caroline hazarded.  
“But no one can get out of the gorge when it’s full; the current’s way too strong!” Paul continued.  
“I hear Companions are way stronger than normal horses. And it obviously didn’t want it’s Herald to die so he used all his reserves to try to save her. But even the best intentions can go sour.” Mac interjected thoughtfully. Finally talking. As one, the small circle of gossipers swiveled their heads to look at him.  
“But that’s just silly Mac! A horse can’t be that devoted or strong.” Paul said. Caroline nodded.  
“But they aren’t just horses are they? They’re something more.” Mac protested.  
“Just bedtime stories about highly intelligent horses.” Caroline told him seriously. 

Heralds rarely passed through the village, and Mac and his age mates only got glimpses of the Companions. Mac had seen no evidence that they were truly as smart as humans. But something told him it wasn’t all just made up. Caroline looked like she wanted to reprimand him further, but everyone else had already turned back to discussing whether a Herald would come to claim the dead one before three days or whether they would have a burial ceremony for her. Mac tuned them out and looked towards the window, and the trees in the distance where a Companion was hanging on to the last threads of it’s life.  


The sun was setting as Mac walked down the path to the clearing. He didn’t want to disturb the Healing Hands, and he was fairly certain his presence would not be welcome, so he slipped into the trees, weaving around them much slower than when he was running to see the accident that morning. It was chilly and he pulled his coat closed. No one in Waydring really held with cloaks. They were damn inconvenient.  


The flurry of activity had died down. The Companion was suspended from the branches of two trees so that it’s legs didn’t have to bear any of it’s weight. And it’s leg was tightly bandaged. Mary was sitting alone on a stump, chin in cupped hands, staring thoughtfully at the still Companion. Maybe it was a branch that he stepped on, or some half-dry leaves, but Mary knew he was there.  
“Come on out Mac, it’s only me.” She called softly.  
“Will the Companion be okay?” He asked without preamble, knowing Mary knew he didn’t like small talk.  
“Physically? He should pull through. A damned miracle that’s what. But in the end, it really only matters if he wants to live. This Companion will get better if he wants to live, if not, and I don’t blame him. What does he have to live for?”  
“Maybe he’s stubborn, and just doesn’t want to give up.” Mac hazarded. “Or maybe he needs to relay a message.”  
“We’ll have to wait till the Herald comes; a messenger had already been sent out to the nearest guard outpost.”  
“Will I disturb him if I go closer to get a better look at him?”  
“I don’t see why not, he’s heavily sedated, once we started working on him. He started to thrash about horribly. The Healing Hand had no choice.” Mac nodded, he supposed it was indecent, but he had always wanted to see a Companion up close. Slowly approaching, he ran his hand gently along the Companion’s muzzle. Of a sudden, the Companion’s eyes blinked open, and stared directly at him, into him.  


..................... 

He was lost in a veritable sea of sorrow. Why couldn’t he die? Katie was dead and it was his entire fault. Death was so close he could feel it, but the way to it was blocked. Why couldn’t he join Katie? An answer came to him out of a fog of pain and sorrow. Maybe he was still needed. But what possible use was he? He had killed his own Herald. It was too much, he just wanted to let go…  
:No you don’t. A foreign voice interjected into his downward spiral of madness.  
:Who are you?  
:I’m Mac.  
:What do you want?  
:You not to die.  
:Why?  
:Because it’s wrong to just give up.  
:I failed Mac.  
:Course you didn’t, no one can jump the gorge when it’s full.  
:I’m a Companion dammit! I should’ve been able to save her. But I didn’t. And now look at me, I can’t even die!  
:Maybe that’s for a reason.  
:What reason then?  
:How should I know? I barley know what I’m saying, or how, or even where I am! 

He was about to reply when he sensed the Foreign Presence leaving his drug fuddled head.  
For a moment, despite his sorrow, Frey was intrigued.  


....................... 

“Mac! Mac! What are you doing?” A voice called, with a start, Mac lifted his hand from the Companion’s muzzle. Where was he? What did he just say? Did he just talk with the Companion? As he adjusted to the material world once more, he became aware of his body, shaking and cold. Lucky Mary was there, because Mac fell into her arms. With a grunt, she dragged him over to the log.  
“What were you doing to it? The Companion was all trembling, and you just stood there for a quarter candlemark!” Mac wanted to explain, but he barely understood it himself. And he was so tired, yet one thing seemed important.  
“Frey.” He mumbled.  
“What?”  
“Frey, the Companion’s name is Frey.” Mac elaborated, and slipped into unconsciousness.  


Mac woke up in a bed much softer than his pallet in the children’s’ sleeping quarters. Where was he? Coherent thoughts came back to him, along with a faint headache. He tried to sit up, but found it only increased the pain. Someone blocked the light streaming form the window on the right.  
“Nice to see you’re awake.” A voice that Mac immediately recognized said.  
“Caroline.” He croaked.  
“Mac. How’re you feeling?”  
“My head hurts.”  
“Herald Ulric says it was because of a reaction headache. You were in an extremely deep trance, whatever that is.”  
“Herald Ulric? I thought the Herald wouldn’t come for at least three days!” Caroline looked at him oddly.  
“I suppose you were delirious or something. You’ve been out for a week. We’ve all been worried sick.” That brought to mind a certain suicidal Companion he should be worried about.  
“Frey? What did the Herald say about him?”  
“The Companion?”  
“Yes.” Mac said, exasperated.  
“The Herald says that the fact that it’s still alive means that it still has something to live for. He says that He and his Companion would stay here, because obviously Frey can’t even move. It’ll be weeks before we’ll even know if he will walk or run properly!”  
“Well then.” Why did the thought of Frey never running again make him feel so sad?  
“What happened between you and the Companion?” Caroline asked curiously. Mac looked hard at his twin, to whom he had always told everything. Nevertheless, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. So he shrugged his shoulders and decided to act like he was drifting off to sleep.  
“Well, I can see you’re tired, I’ll just leave you then and we’ll talk later, alright?” She said after an uncomfortable silence.  
“Mm-hmm.” Mac kept his eyes closed until he heard Caroline leaving the infirmary, empty except for him.  


His next visitor was Herald Ulric himself.  
“Hello lad.” He said. “I know you aren’t asleep.” There was no point feigning it anymore, so Mac opened his eyes and propped himself up on the bed with a pillow.  
“Are you going to take Frey away?”  
“It depends on what happens.”  
“What could happen?” The Herald looked uncomfortable and deftly changed the subject; cutting to the heart of the matter.  
“Listen kid, so far you’re the only one that has been able to communicate with Frey. As soon as you’re able, I need you to try to talk to him again. See what the deal is.”  
“I can do it now.” Mac volunteered. Ulric laughed sadly.  
“Steady kid, a day won’t hurt anything. Rest up, I want you at your top capabilities to help us with Frey.”  
Mac could see the sense of that. So he nodded.  
“Good boy. I’ll see you later.” As quick as he had come and talked, Herald Ulric left. Not one to mince words him.  


People were watching him. The Healers and Hands, the Herald along with the Herald’s Companion Lila and a few others. They all wanted to see what the Companion would say. Mac was sweating, what if he couldn’t talk with Frey again? He hated when people watched him. And a small part of himself admitted he was terrified to once more go into the mind of Frey. With all Frey's his heavy sadness and unfilled yearnings. Herald Ulric smiled at him encouragingly. Mac took a deep breath and approached the semi-lucid Companion.  


......................... 

Frey could sense people, lots of them watching him, He didn’t care, he finally knew what he had to do. Why he couldn’t join Katie.  
:Frey, it’s me Mac.  
:Mac, there is a reason I’m not dead. He said before he lost his newfound desire to live.  
:You wanted to live?  
:No, because I’m still needed. People still need me.  
:Who? Who needs you? Moment of Truth. Frey mentally prepared himself.  
:You. Mac, I choose you.  
:What? Frey could sense shock.  
:Will you chose me?  
Frey could sense the boy’s mind withdrawing, thinking furiously. When it returned with an answer, Frey felt a veil of sadness lift form his broken heart.  
:Yes.  


......................... 

“What happened Mac?” Asked Herald Ulric. Mac stared at the crowd, for once in his life feeling complete, happy.  
“He chose me.” Mac said quietly.  
“He what?” Herald Ulric exclaimed, nonplussed.  
“You heard me Herald. Frey is my Companion now.” Everyone stared at him in confusion.  
“Sorry ‘bout this.” Mac said. And for the second time in a ten-day, Mac collapsed into unconsciousness.


End file.
